


a feeling we can't fight

by sekhmettt



Series: fate chose me and you [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Not Beta Read, Rare Pairing, finally the slow build begins to pay off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:15:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26502766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sekhmettt/pseuds/sekhmettt
Summary: Oberyn comes to visit his sister in Winterfell and by utter accident, brings to her attention the fact that she might actually be coming to love her new husband.
Relationships: Elia Martell & Oberyn Martell, Elia Martell/Ned Stark
Series: fate chose me and you [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1917352
Comments: 17
Kudos: 215
Collections: Southern Renaissance (Dorne Renaissance)





	a feeling we can't fight

The truth is, it surprises her that Oberyn has not arrived earlier. Yet, she sees Doran’s temperate hand in the delay. Their little brother is undoubtedly full of righteous anger at the usurper’s new reign, and between Sunspear and Winterfell lies the capital. She loves her brother, but she cannot underestimate his wrath outweighing his sense and causing him to act rashly if he got it in his head to visit the new King on the way. Already, her brother is building a reputation as a poisoner. The last thing they needed was the King mysteriously dying of poison after his visit.

After near a year and a half living in Winterfell, Elia must admit that she is not as unhappy as she expected. It is true, her children will never hold the Iron Throne, but _curse_ that vile old pile of swords. After seeing the way men hunger for it, the way it drives them mad, she is glad to have her children as far away from it as possible. And they’re _happy_ here, strangely enough. Rhaenys has clung to Ned like a daughter, and her husband had welcomed her with open arms. Aegon is walking and _running_ in earnest now, seeming amazed with every new discovery he makes in Winterfell’s walls. Meanwhile, his youngest brother, little Jon, seems to love nothing more than stumbling after him on shakier toddler legs.

Not that Oberyn seemed to hear a word of it when she said as much. He seems to determined to hate Ned, and she is reminded of courtships and betrothals when she was still unwed, when he managed to find something wrong with every man their mother put before her. It was hilarious then, but now she can only find a defensive sort of irritation in his dressing down of her husband.

“He’s dour and boring. I don’t know how you deal with it.” Elia rolls her eyes, because that is the very thing that everyone thinks of Ned, before they actually speak to him and find out what that a clever, kind conversationalist hides behind his stern countenance. Her brother doesn’t wish to learn about that though; he only wishes to complain and perhaps bring her back to Sunspear with the children.

Still, Elia’s voice is soft when she chides, “Brother, be kind. He saved me and the children, when it was a very unpopular thing to do.”

Oberyn waves away the idea, declaring, “If he truly wished to save you, he would have went further South, rather than bring you to this barren cold.”

“The castle is warm.” Elia points out, still trying to be gentle with him, because she has missed him so, so much. No reason to get into a row with him if she can help it. She knows he’s capable of being reasonable, once he’s stopped being stubborn.

“And the company?” Oberyn’s scoff of derision hits before she can even answer, “Colder than the weather, I imagine.”

Elia pauses, and when she speaks her voice comes out a bit sharper, a bit more stubborn, “Shy. But underneath it all, sweet.” Oberyn blinks at her, and she quite dislikes the grin slipping onto his lips, all manic, teasing little _brat_ of a brother. She almost wished he’d go back to scowling at the snow, the furs, the old castle, anything other than that look on his face.

“You actually _like_ your wolf, don’t you?” he crows and Elia rolls her eyes, not dignifying him with a response, “You’re the one _sweet_ on him.”

“Hush. I’m too old for things like that.” She feels as old as the Crone, for all that she is only eight and twenty. Her husband is only five years younger than her, yet she still imagines him a boy. But no, that’s wrong. Any boy he was died during the Rebellion, and he is undoubtedly a man. Yet, he doesn’t act like a man, nor treat her like a woman.

She wonders if he finds her desirable, for he never lays with her. Never has. Even on their wedding night, he had assured her it wasn’t necessary, given that no one would be looking for proof of their consummation in the form of a bloody sheet. At the time she had been nothing but grateful, but now she wonders. There are no rumors that her husband visits brothels, and they break their fast together every morning. She would know if there was another woman…or women. But no.

She wonders if he thinks about his lost Tully wife. Wonders if he loved her. She knows he thinks of his lost son, but that’s another matter all together. She doesn’t begrudge him mourning his losses, given how many he’d had to experience in his short life. If that is the truth of it, if he loved Catelyn Tully, for all that people say it was a quick, political marriage of two strangers, she’ll accept his grieving for as long as he needs.

She wonders if he thinks of another Dornishwoman. She’d heard rumors about Ned and her dearly departed Ashara, even more once word of their betrothal was announced. Far too many cruel whispers about how Ned didn’t get the Dornishwoman he wanted, how Elia looked like nothing more than a milk maid in comparison to the Dayne beauty, the poor man. She’d laughed at the words at the time, for Ashara would have told Elia if she had a dalliance with the Quiet Wolf, but now she is not so sure. At the very least, she is certain the rumors of Ashara being Jon’s mother are false. 

Perhaps it is simply Elia. He is kind to her, and she knows they are friends. Elia is not usually one for self consciousness or doubt; her mother ground into her from an early age that none could compare to a Princess of Dorne and anyone who didn’t want her was either a fool, a liar, or both. Her husband is no fool and certainly no liar, yet he doesn’t want her all the same. And she finds that _she_ wants her husband to want _her_.

And oh, she’s been lost in her thoughts, traversed down a path she hadn’t meant to wander on. Oberyn has stopped speaking and is looking at her curiously. And for a moment, she just looks at him, her dear little brother, practically her twin, so out of place in the snow, and her worries lighten away, pulling a laugh from her throat. He is bundled into the furs of a Northmen, and it looks so strange on him, and his gloved hand in hers is still shivering. She wonders when she stopped shivering as much, wonders when the cold stopped signaling achy bones and running noses and has instead begun to fortify her. 

“You look freezing, Ryn. Maybe we should go inside.” She manages through another giggle.

“Apologies. We aren’t all accustomed to the cold, Lady Stark.” He teases, and she nearly preens, because she knows that it’s the first little hint of acceptance to her marriage, for all that it is a joke. She thought the subject of her happiness dropped, but Oberyn surprises her by commenting, “You’re hardly an old spinster, El. If you’re holding back just because of some strange fear of rejection, I wouldn’t worry. Your husband looks to you as if you hung the sun itself.” Elia scoffs despite herself and Oberyn laughs, “It’s true! It’s the only reason I didn’t gut him on sight and bring you and the children back to Dorne! The only reason I’m giving him a chance at all!”

“Oberyn!” she exclaims, shoving him and watching as he dramatically flails, making a show of slipping on the snowy floor before _magically_ regaining his balance, all feline grace. “Please do not gut my husband! I’m happy here. _We’re_ happy here. Truly.” 

And to her surprise, she thinks is telling the truth. She knows the children are happy here. Rhaenys’ nightmares have faded to appear only on rare occasion. Aegon knows no other home, young as he is. And Elia? Well, she herself has settled her far better than she ever anticipated. The only way she could be happier is if her husband would love her.

She spends her day catching up with Oberyn, reuniting him with his niece and nephew and introducing him to Jon, very pointedly as _my second son_. Yet, the thoughts that Oberyn had accidentally pulled to the forefront of her mind have not left her all day. Now she cannot go on without speaking to Ned about it, finding out if what Oberyn says is true. If Ned _does_ care for her, if he _does_ find her desirable, but does not act on it. And so, it is after dinner, after Oberyn has slunk off with one of the kitchen maids, when Ned is escorting her back to her room that she gathers her courage.

“Perhaps I’ll bring your brother hunting tomorrow. His glares are significantly less scary when he’s shivering from the cold.” Ned muses, voice deadpan for all that it is one of his subtle jokes. She chuckles, and he leans down to kiss her, as he does every night before leaving her to her own room and her own lonely bed.

Before he can leave, Elia catches his arm, and now that she has his attention, she cannot turn away. She won’t. She is a Princess of Dorne, the Lady of Winterfell, his wife, and a beautiful, desirable woman. She will have answers from him, one way or another. Tilting her chin up, she forces herself to remain proud when she asks, “Why won’t you ever lay with me, Ned?” The question seems to shock her normally unshakeable husband, his eyes widening just slightly as he gapes at her, wordless for a few seconds.

When she doesn’t give him a reprieve or a way out of the conversation, he finally speaks, “I…you’ve been a good wife to me. And an even better Lady of Winterfell.” She cringes despite herself, knowing that a _but_ is undoubtedly coming next. _But I cannot betray my first wife, whom I still mourn, Catelyn. But your heritage reminds me of my lost love, Ashara. But I simply don’t desire you._ Yet it seems her husband has surprises for her still. “You’re a woman who is… _was_ too highborn for marriage with me, at least as a second son, perhaps even as a first son, Princess that you were. Either way, I know that this cannot be what you expected or wanted…and Winterfell has an heir, even if you…” He trails off, tastefully doesn’t mention her barrenness before continuing, “And I know regardless of all that, this is not a marriage you wanted…so I see no reason you would…desire to fulfill our marital duties.”

 _That’s it?_ It seems as if while most men have an overabundance of pride and confidence, her husband lacks it entirely. She would have never had known it, if he had not said as much. Stoic, solid, and strong by her side, he always appeared unphased by all and utterly confident in his ability to rule the North. _As it should be_. It may have only been a short time, but he is a good lord to his people. She knows it already, as do his bannerman. She will help bolster his confidence in that regard come another time, for now, she focused on the task at hand.

“But do you desire me?” Elia asked, looking up to him. She realizes that she hasn’t been clear in her own desires, in her own feelings. He may be the stoic one, but she is closed off in her own way, after everything that has happened. If she were truly brave, perhaps she’d speak her feelings into words first, but she finds she needs to hear him say more first.

“I…you’re beautiful, Elia. I’d have to be blind not to…” It seems he thinks she’ll be offended, for he continues speaking, almost babbling really. It’s strange to see, but also endearing beyond measure, “But you’re more than your beauty. You’re strong and intelligent and witty. And an amazing mother. Our marriage was not your choice and was forced upon you. I know it’s likely not possible for you to love me – or, desire me that is, I –“

“Ned.” She interrupts, for he has told her all she needs to hear, “We cannot let the circumstances that caused our marriage hang over it forever. We have to make our own way forward, together.” His fears about her lack of care for him are unfounded, but she hadn’t noticed before; his mask is strong.

Usually, at least. Now, she can read him quite easily. His lips are quirked into a confused frown, gaze nervous yet hopeful on hers, but she is distracted by the dusting of red crossing his cheeks. It makes him look younger, more human than ice, and utterly _adorable_ , in truth.

“I think I could find it quite easy to love you, Ned Stark.” She muses almost idly and is rewarded by that dusting darkening to a full on blush. “In time. Perhaps. But for now? I think you should come to bed, husband.” She declares, curling her fingers in his and tugging him lightly in the direction of _her_ room, with its large bed. 

He follows quickly, a smile growing on his face. _I think my husband desires me after all_ , she thinks a touch giddily. _And I think I might love him already._

**Author's Note:**

> I might write the smut out later in another one shot. We'll see. As is, I'm tearing through my ideas faster than I thought. I have a lot of muse for these two at the moment lol. I'm almost done another one shot, and I have around three ideas left, so if you guys want to give me plot bunnies, lmk your ideas in the comments. 
> 
> That being said, if you have the money to spare, feel free to buy me a [ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/sekhmettt) in this trying time. God knows I need it. If you do and have a fic request for these two or anyone else, let me know and I’ll definitely give it my best shot. <3


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